Capítulo 173: Chapter 174: The Riverlands Woman in the Desert
The death of the Dornish woman barely caused a ripple. In wartime, life is rarely valued, and especially here, where Samwell's soldiers hailed from the Reach and the Vale, two regions with deep-seated hatred for the Dornish. Asking them to pity a Dornish camp woman was as likely as asking water to spring up in the Dornish sands.
After capturing the watchtower, Samwell didn't advance further; instead, he had his troops rest and fortify. For this mission of disrupting the Dornish rear, his strategy was simple: one word—caution.
Penetrating deep into Dornish territory wasn't a task to take lightly. The Dornish army might not be large—limited by their barren lands and food supplies—but Dornish society was known for its fierce, insular nature. Faced with foreign invaders, they became almost an entire people at arms, a fierce opposition on every front. The camp woman's attempt on Samwell's life had been a stark reminder.
Under such circumstances, Samwell's small unit could easily be swallowed up in a wave of "people's warfare," so caution was vital. He decided to wait for the other nine cavalry squads to draw the enemy's attention and scatter the Dornish forces before he'd launch an attack.
But on the ninth day, Samwell realized he could no longer stay in hiding. A Dornish scout had come to inspect the watchtower. Though his men quickly intercepted and killed the scout, it wouldn't be long before the Qorglye family noticed his absence and suspected something was amiss.
They'd done their best to stay hidden, but the watchtower had now become a liability. The other units had likely drawn away some of the enemy's attention, so it was time to act. Samwell ordered his two hundred horsemen forward, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them as they left the watchtower and plunged into the vast Dornish desert.
For those seeing it for the first time, the Dornish sands held a rugged beauty—endless sky, vast stretches of yellow sand, with no other sights to break the monotony. But stay long enough, and it would become a prison, a place no one would willingly return to. The beauty was hollow, a barren, endless expanse of nothing but sand.
The desert winds whipped relentlessly, often kicking up clouds of sand. In a sandstorm, the effect was even more terrifying, blotting out the sun and turning the world dark, as if at the world's end. But it was water, not sand, that posed the real threat to life here.
Luckily, Samwell had Lucas Dayne, a born and raised Dornishman who knew the region intimately and could lead them to each nearby water source. Even so, each watering hole posed its own challenges, as every one was guarded by Dornish soldiers.
After three days of riding, they finally came upon a water source. Samwell's hawk scouted it from above, revealing a small village near the water, with around three to four dozen Dornish soldiers.
It wasn't enough of a force to worry about.
Samwell immediately ordered the attack.
The knights mounted their horses, forming neat rows before gradually loosening the reins and spurring their mounts forward. The steady sound of hooves soon coalesced into a thunderous roar, shaking the ground and striking fear into the hearts of any onlookers.
Samwell led the charge from the front, his hammer raised. Randyll Tarly's first lesson in cavalry warfare had been simple: lead from the front. Only when the commander charged ahead would his soldiers find the courage to follow. With his unmatched personal strength, Samwell could hold his own in front lines. This time, he didn't even bother to draw Dawn, his massive sword, instead relying on his warhammer as he crashed into the village.
Dickon Tarly rode close behind, hooting with excitement, thrilled to finally be in the thick of battle.
Chaos erupted in the Dornish village.
With no castle walls to defend them, the soldiers fled in all directions. A few tried to stand their ground, waving curved swords and shouting, but most civilians sought shelter in their homes or tried to escape on horseback.
Samwell had sent a few men to block escape routes, but out here in the vast desert, a complete victory was impossible. With only two hundred riders, he couldn't cover every avenue of escape. Despite a few who slipped through, the cavalry quickly subdued the village, cutting down any soldiers who dared to fight.
Samwell's men had been instructed to kill all Dornish soldiers but spare civilians who didn't resist. Samwell drank from the village well, relishing the cool water, when a rider returned with news that two Dornish soldiers had managed to escape.
He wasn't overly concerned. Their presence had already been discovered; there was no need to remain hidden. The only way to ensure total secrecy would be to slaughter every civilian in the village—a ruthless measure he wasn't willing to take.
Once his soldiers had filled their water skins, they prepared to move out, but his squire, Katu, approached, leading a woman with disheveled clothing.
"My lord, we found a woman from the Riverlands."
"A woman from the Riverlands?" Samwell asked, surprised.
"Yes, my lord. She says her name is Sarya and she's a fighter from the Stormcrows mercenary company," Katu explained.
Sarya looked to be in her mid-twenties, tall and muscular, with long, strong legs. Her close-set eyes gave her a determined look, and her brown hair hung in disarray over her shoulders.
"The Stormcrows? The mercenary group from Oldtown?" Samwell asked, vaguely recalling the name.
"Yes, my lord," Sarya replied. "I'm from Oldtown myself. I was hired by a Dornish merchant to escort goods from Oldtown to Sandstone. But when the war broke out, the Dornish wouldn't let us leave. We tried to escape, but my companions were killed, and I was… well…"
One glance at her torn clothes and the bruises on her exposed skin told Samwell why the Dornish had spared her.
"My lord, please—take me with you. I'll fight for you," Sarya pleaded.
Samwell hesitated. "We're on a mission, a dangerous one."
"I'm not afraid!" Sarya's voice shook with anger. "I want revenge for what they did to my companions!"
Samwell shook his head. "I can give you food, water, even a horse, but you should head west to Starfall. The lord there is neutral in this war and won't harm you."
"You think I can't fight because I'm a woman, don't you?" Sarya demanded, her eyes flashing with defiance.
Samwell was silent.
His silence was all the confirmation she needed.
Sarya sneered. "Let me tell you something, my lord. My father was a mercenary, and my mother a camp woman. They weren't married, so I was a bastard. On my coming-of-age, my father came for me, asking me to leave with him. My mother refused, so he slapped her and threw a sword at my feet, asking me to choose his sword or her tears."
She lifted her chin proudly. "I chose the sword."
She held Samwell's gaze, determination etched on her face. "My lord, I am not a woman who cries. Give me a sword, and I will fight for you!"
Dickon spoke up, urging his brother, "Let her join us, Brother. She wouldn't survive out here alone."
After a long look at the woman, Samwell nodded. "Fine. But if you die, don't expect us to carry your remains back to Oldtown."
Sarya smiled, undaunted. "If I can kill even a few more Dornish before I go, I'll consider it a worthy death."
"Good." Samwell turned to his brother. "Dickon, find a horse for her."
"Yes, brother." Dickon eagerly led Sarya to the horses, and they quickly readied themselves to leave the village.
In the following days, Samwell's band raided another small Dornish village, replenishing their supplies along the way. But one thing eluded him: he still hadn't found a Dornish supply convoy.
With two Iron Throne armies advancing from the Prince's Pass and Boneway, Samwell was sure the Dornish must be transporting food and supplies to heavy defensive points like Skyreach and Ironwood. Finding those supply routes had been a key part of their mission.
However, despite his hawk's high vantage, Samwell found that keeping a constant eye on the vast desert was impossible. The desert climate quickly wore out the bird, which would retreat to the shade of his cloak after only a short flight.
Accepting this, Samwell released the hawk only when needed, relying mostly on scouts to report any signs of activity.
Over the next few days, the cavalry roamed around Sandstone, swift and elusive, never staying in one place too long. Still, Dornish forces eventually picked up their trail.
"They're likely a cavalry," Lucas deduced. "Only cavalry could keep up with us."
"I'm more curious as to how they're tracking us," Samwell murmured, troubled.
He'd sent his hawk aloft several times without spotting them directly, though he'd found hints of their passage.
Lucas thought for a moment before responding. "It's not so surprising. The desert might be vast, but water sources are few and fixed. The Dornish only need to follow those and they can guess our position and likely path."
Samwell frowned, deep in thought.
(End of Chapter)
Estado de energía semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Piedra de
Poder